The First Act
by TUYCCTBMLS
Summary: "My name is The Doctor, and this, is my TARDIS." Sherlock and The Doctor's initial meeting - inevitably it leads to an adventure! Prequel to 'The Final Act'. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Doctor Who. *cries*_

He wasn't stupid.

In fact, he was probably the farthest thing from it. John had told him many a time that he was 'brilliant'.

So enough was enough. The 'Great Consulting Detective' was starting to get irritated, and an irritated Sherlock Holmes was maddening to anyone that was around him.

He smirked a little, thinking back to the conversation he had had earlier. He had been in the flat, stood by the window staring at the blue thing outside that had been annoying him for the past two weeks. His flatmate was sat in his usual chair, cup of tea in one hand, newspaper in the other.

"_Sherlock," John Watson said with as much control as possible, "you aren't going to find out what it is unless you confront it head on. Go to the source." He flopped the newspaper down so he could let the detective see he was serious. Draining the last of his tea, he placed the mug on the table and took the paper in both hands, opening it out but still watching Sherlock. _

_The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. "You know John, I think I am going to go and confront the problem head on. Get to the source." _

"_That's what I sai- Right, yes. Do what you want." John sighed, flicking the newspaper back up in front of his face expertly, trying to hide his smile. But it was too late, Sherlock had seen it. John snorted and folded the paper down again, looking to the detective with amusement in his eyes. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to try and stop the smirk that was creeping up his angular face. He took a subtle breath and let out a shaky one, covering it up with a cough, but Sherlock couldn't help the small grin that formed on his face._

"_Be back before 7, Mrs Hudson is making us Sunday dinner." John said, flipping the newspaper up once more in finality and then settling down in his chair. Sherlock looked at the army doctor for a minute before picking up his phone off the cluttered desk and tucking it into his pocket._

_"Might be late, don't wait for me." With that, he whipped his coat and scarf off the hat stand and strode out of the room, ignoring John's complaints with a small grin on his face._

That conversation had brought him here. He stood from a distance observing the blue box, trying to see if there had been any change. But of course, there hadn't.

He waited for maybe two hours; time for the detective always seemed to go by very quickly. For example, last month he was yet again analysing the 234 types of tobacco ash and at that moment in time, comparing the ingredients with the flavours and smells of the Cavendish, Virginia blend and Honeydew Perique. And then suddenly two weeks had passed, with only the intervention of John practically shoving food down his throat being a reminder that the Earth still existed. World War 3 could have started and he wouldn't have noticed, although it definitely felt like it had done from the rage John directed at him. He ranted and raved about how Sherlock couldn't just sit down for a fortnight with no human contact, barely any food or water. He said it wasn't natural, to which Sherlock had sniggered at. Mrs Hudson had been coming upstairs, but paused and turned around quickly, trying to get away from the warzone – she had no such luck; John dragged her into the conversation and tried to get her to side with him. However, Mrs Hudson, being Mrs Hudson had managed to get away, ending up practically running off saying something about her bins.

Sherlock tended to deviate from the task at hand when he thought about the past, so he dragged his mind back.

He pulled out his phone and quickly texted John, _'I'm going in. SH'_

'_About bloody time. JW'_ came the reply a few seconds later. Sherlock could almost hear the exasperation in John's voice. He put the phone into his pocket, looked left and right and crossed the clear road.

He stood only 400 yards away from it and looked intently. It was unlike any police box he had ever seen. He had only seen two other police call boxes in his life, they weren't very common anymore – the two he had seen were old and disused. However, this one was different; although it had the odd scratch, it looked clean and pristine. But the windows were too high and small, and the whole thing was overly conspicuous. This model, Sherlock noted, was from the 1960s, with an electric blue exterior. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to deduce anything else out of the ordinary in its appearance. However, there was one thing he could say about it in general, that was indeed strange. The blue box had been everywhere Sherlock had been in the past two weeks; the corner of the street by St. Bart's, the new Japanese restaurant down the road. Even next to the dented lamppost beside the chip shop. John of course, thought Sherlock was "Off your rocker" as he put it. But Sherlock was perfectly sane. Well, as sane as a highly functioning sociopath _could_ be.

So here he was, now stood outside of the blue police box. The same one that he had seen exactly 17 times. He raised his hand and gingerly touched it, drawing it back quickly looking at his fingers as they tingled. It was made of strong wood which was warm, but the thing that had surprised the detective was that it was humming. He touched it again and held his hand there. _Yes, definitely humming_, he thought. He looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching and then he pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted him was a curious one; Sherlock had never seen anything quite like it. For one, it was bigger on the inside. It was also decorated in the strangest fashion, odd bits of metal sticking out here and there and to be quite frank, it was a rather dull colour. But it was the centre of the room that intrigued the consulting detective, who let the door swing shut, walked up the steps and stood in front of it cautiously. It looked like a control panel, but there were random buttons, switches and knobs placed everywhere. It looked like a child's toy, with flashing lights and exciting controls. Sherlock reached a hand out to touch the console, but another hand grabbed his arm pulling it away.

"Ah, yes. Best not do that. Who knows what would happen." Said the tall, dark haired man in a loopy voice.

It was instantaneous. As soon as the shaggy haired man had touched him and spoken those few words, Sherlock's mind went into overdrive. He grabbed the man's arm, whirled him around and shoved him against the flashing panel. He reached into his pocket quickly, drawing out a set of keys to 221B – it was the only 'weapon' he had. It would have to do. Digging a key into the stranger's neck threateningly, he growled out "Tell me who you are. Now." The lanky man struggled for a second, before beaming at Sherlock.

"I'll show you" He flashed a hand behind himself and jammed it down on a button, still grinning. The lights dimmed and a terrible cyclic wheezing, groaning noise filled the room.

"What did you just do?"

"Oh nothing, just sending us on a little trip" he sang. The man pushed Sherlock off with a little force and brushed himself down. He looked to the detective with mischievous eyes, swirling the keys to 221B around his little finger. Sherlock clenched his now empty hand and stared at the man, eyes narrowing and suspicion crossing his features. "Who are you?"

The man smiled.

"My name is The Doctor, and this" he paused for effect and motioned around the room, "is my TARDIS."

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_So this was originally a oneshot, but I've decided to make it into a multi-chapter fic! It's all written up, so I'll post a chapter or so daily. Please review! :D_

* * *

"My name is The Doctor, and this" he paused for effect and motioned around the room, "is my TARDIS." The cyclic wheezing noise ended and a soft bump vibrated through the room as it landed in its new destination.

"The Doctor? Doctor who?"

"Just The Doctor. But I think the question is, who are you?" The Doctor countered. Sherlock looked bemused and stared at the man with suspicious eyes, staying silent.

"Giving me the silent treatment eh," he checks his watch and looks up to Sherlock, "well I've got all day, so wait if you want. Your choice."

Sherlock frowned at the man and examined him. "From what I can tell, you are unarmed, recently married but yet your partner is nowhere to be seen. Possibly you've left her, but it's more probable that she has left you going by the state of your hair. Your shoes are scuffed but clean and the seams of your jacket are worn. This suggests that whatever you do is very physical, possibly including fighting, definitely including running. I've noticed that there is a cubbyhole in the 'P' above the door outside, meaning you live here alone but often have visitors. And as well as this place being dimensionally transcendental; it isn't a living thing, but you look at it as if it is the love of your life."

He paused for a breath, looking at The Doctor trying to see if there was a reaction. Sherlock didn't add on that he couldn't deduce anything about The Doctor's face. _It looked young, but the eyes were so… old. No that can't be right,_ Sherlock mused quickly.

"I have the feeling that I'm going to like you." The Doctor said after pausing, a large grin lighting up his face.

"Sherlock," Sherlock said, unexpectedly.

"What?" The Doctor asked, confused.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes" Sherlock stated with a bored tone.

"And the address is 221B Baker Street!" The Doctor finished off gleefully. Sherlock's eyes widened for a second before he reached his next conclusion.

"You've been following me for two weeks. Of course you knew that."

"I don't follow people. Sexy- I mean my TARDIS does occasionally, but she hasn't been feeling too well recently." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"And again, referring to it like you're in love. What is so special about this little blue box?" The Doctor's face visibly grew, brightening with excitement, but then swiftly dropped.

"I'd love to show you… but I can't. Usually I don't mind too much about changing things, but this… Sherlock Holmes… The '_Great'_ Sherlock Holmes. I can't." Sherlock stared at the man, quizzically.

"Well I'll just leave then." Sherlock stated, turning on his heel and marching towards the door. The Doctor's expression became panicked.

"No!" The Doctor almost shouted. Sherlock halted a step or two away from the door, facing away from the strange man. "You ahh… you can't go out there." The corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up in a smirk.

"…And if I do?" he stepped forward, the door within easy reach.

"Just err… give me a moment!" The Doctor spoke quickly turning to the control panel in an attempt to stop the detective from opening the door.

"Too late, Doctor." Sherlock pulled on the handle of the door and let is swing inwards, stepping outside. What Sherlock saw next crushed all of his rationality, reasoning and logic.

They weren't in Baker Street anymore.

It had been daylight in London, but here, it was dark; the sky twinkled with stars and the moonlight shone down, illuminating the TARDIS. The consulting detective's mouth dropped as he looked around at the scene. They were stood on top of a large ornate building; four large domes with spires on top standing to Sherlock's right. It was an old city… definitely not modern. A pleasant breeze ruffled through Sherlock's curls as he surveyed the mix of scenery. He looked to the large tower that resided a few hundred metres in front of him, and the lit up square a little to the right. "How is this possible?" Sherlock quietly questioned, finally managing to regain control of his mouth. They were in _Venice_… on top of _St. Mark's Basilica_?!

"I told you not to come out here." The Doctor spoke quietly, coming up behind the detective.

"I can see why you said that…" Sherlock said, eyes scanning every inch of the rooftops belonging to The Floating City.

The Doctor clapped his hands together suddenly, making a decision. "Oh well, I guess it's too late now!" The Timelord plonked himself down on the edge of the church, his long legs dangling over, "Beautiful, isn't it? Sometimes I just come here to get away from it all. Mind you, Venice didn't go so well last time…" The slight wind changed direction, carrying the quiet but noticeable sound of people.

"What date is it?" Sherlock asked suddenly

"27th February" The Doctor replied, casually attempting to sneak a glance at the consulting detective.

"Yes, but what year?" The detective retorted, perceptively. The Doctor smiled.

"Venice, 1466." If Sherlock was surprised at the revelation, he hid it very well under a mask of nonchalance.

"So we've just travelled through some sort of space time continuum, correct?"

"Nicely deduced, my friend. TARDIS stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space; she is my time machine, if you may." The Doctor replied. "So… what do you want to do? Still got time to visit Donatello in Rome if you want, he isn't due to go until December? Or Leonardo Da Vinci, great guy, really great guy. Mind you, he's only what, 14 years old at the moment? Hah, listen to me babbling on and I haven't even explained anything to you. Ask me a question." Sherlock deliberated for a moment.

"Where did you acquire the TARDIS from?" The consulting detective said, joining The Doctor on the edge of the Byzantine architectural marvel.

"Oh, I just err… unofficially… erm _borrowed_ it from a friend; Lance his name was… nice fellow, long beard." The Doctor scratched the back of his head, noticing the sounds of civilisation once again.

"You stole it?" Sherlock remarked, amused.

"I like to think I'll return it… in time." Sherlock scoffed at the statement. "I _will_." The Doctor protested, glancing up at the sounds he could hear in the distance, "What _is_ going on over there?" the Timelord said, irritation and curiousness finally getting the better of him.

"Shall we take a look?" Sherlock said, the anticipation of adventure clear on his face. The Doctor grinned.

"You put words in my mouth." The pair jumped to their feet, Sherlock walking to the ladder a few yards away.

"No need to do that," The Doctor said, hanging out the entrance of the TARDIS, "we can take the shortcut!" Sherlock licked his lips, enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. They both entered the TARDIS, The Doctor practically skipping towards the control panel. Sherlock followed him, observing every action the Timelord made; the twist of the many door knobs, the flick of the variously coloured switches and the pulling of random levers that protruded from everywhere and anywhere in the panel. It looked like a complicated process to the untrained eye, but Sherlock followed everything, trying to familiarise himself with the movements of the gangly man. A cyclic wheezing began, reverberating throughout the entire room; and suddenly they were being hurled through time.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

Only moments later, the TARDIS rematerialised in a quiet stone paved street. They exited the blue police box, The Doctor turning to close and lock it and then they strolled along the dark street towards the source of the disturbance they had noticed from the top of the Church of Gold. Light poured through the cracks in a door on their right, and the sounds of drunken delight were prominent. The duo shared a silent nod, already knowing what the other was thinking. Sherlock grabbed the handle, pushing the door open fully, music blasting at them like a shock wave. It was nearly deafening, but the atmosphere was so jolly that this was soon forgotten. What Sherlock had originally thought was a bar of some sort, was so much more. It was a large courtyard, filled with red faced Italians, both men and women, in renaissance clothing and complete with elaborate masks.

"Ah, the _Carnevale di Venezia_!" The Doctor said in an overdone Italian accent, "I've always liked this time of year." Sherlock started to walk forwards, but a hand stopped him.

"Not dressed like that Sherly, can't draw too much attention to ourselves." The Timelord jogged over to a stall with a rather large gruff looking Italian, his face concealed with a red and black Baùta, the kind of mask that tilted upwards at the bottom to enable the wearer to talk, eat and drink easily. Sherlock was certain this man would be doing the latter two activities. Tossing a few coins that he has seemingly conjured up out of nowhere, The Doctor bought a mass of clothing and two masks.

"No." Sherlock said, simply.

"Well, I'll just have to take you back to Baker Street then." The Doctor said starting to turn around. Sherlock snatched the clothes out of the Timelord's hands, eyes narrowing at the fabric.

"You speak of this to no one, understand." Sherlock threatened, pulling the shirt on over his coat.

"Oh of course not, _never_." The Doctor said, coyly. He pulled his own clothes on, his bow tie still visible at the top of his shirt. Once they were both suitably dressed, they put their masks on and set forward into the courtyard.

Sherlock was robed in relatively plain clothing; his cloak was velvet and a deep midnight blue, littered with miniscule silver dots; his mask was in a volto style, mainly white, a little swirling pattern noticeable down the right-hand side. He wore a traditional tricorne hat, black with a navy diagonal strip of material; and a white shirt was visible at the consulting detective's neck, as was his coat collar which was pulled up, and his blue scarf, which he refused to remove.

The Doctor on the other hand, was dressed rather extravagantly. He wore a white shirt (and bow tie), underneath a maroon velvet cloak, decorated with purple swirls and small golden stars. His mask was a shining gold, in a Baùta style – _for all of his talking_ Sherlock thought, amused.

The duo made their way towards the crowds, pushing through the wall of people. Both of them stopped when they reached the edge of the crowd, watching with baited breath at the scene before them. There were 5 men dressed like jesters, juggling with knifes in such a precision that Sherlock had rarely seen before. The crowd gasped when it looked like one of the performers was going to be impaled, but it was part of the act and he scooped the blade up in a perfect arc motion.

"Let's find something more interesting." The Doctor said, before leaving the crowd and going towards a little bridge and archway on the right of the courtyard. There were people littered along their path, all dressed up in their finest.

"Let's find some _action_." Sherlock said, matching his pace to that of his long legged acquaintance.

"Action?" The Doctor said, his lip curling into a grin. Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, a blood curdling scream reverberated around the street, freezing the duo and many other people in horrified place.

"Talk about timing! This way. _Quickly!_" Sherlock said, pushing past the Timelord and down an alleyway. They ran down to the end, taking a left, then a right again. The Doctor chose to trust Sherlock and didn't make any comments about where they were going. Abruptly, Sherlock stopped, making The Doctor slam into him. They stumbled forwards, just managing to stay upright; Sherlock glared at the Timelord for a second, who grinned sheepishly, before turning to the scene in front of them; The Doctor stepped around the consulting detective and cringed. A young woman was laying spread-eagled before them, a crimson stain seeping through her shimmering gold dress at the abdomen. It was too late – she was dead.

"Damn…" The Doctor said, pulling his mask down. Sherlock had already removed his mask and tossed it to the Timelord, who caught it offhandedly and stuffed them into his cloak. Kneeling beside the woman, the consulting detective was doing what he did best.

"Young woman, early twenties. 5'7, 133 pounds, upper-middle class," he examined her hands, "arranged marriage, 2 years. Not an athletic build, but her muscular arms and legs tell a different story." He hopped over the body. "The killer must have known what he was doing – the cut is almost surgical. And he can run fast – _she_ was built for running." He added as a quick explanation.

"So what do we have?" The Doctor asked, studying the woman.

"The murderer is an assassin. Contract killer, if you may. There's nothing we can do."

"Nothing we can do?" The Doctor said, looking incredulously at Sherlock.

"He's already long gone; he won't have left any trace so there's no chance of finding him unless we had modern surveillance. Besides, I think we should definitely get going." Sherlock said, nodding behind The Doctor. The Timelord swirled around just in time to see some guards emerging from an archway and strolling purposely towards them.

"I think that might be the wisest idea." The Doctor said, turning to face his companion.

"What do you suggest is the best course of action?" Sherlock said, a grin lighting up his face. There was an enraged shout from one of the guards who caught sight of the fallen woman.

"_Run!"_ The Doctor shouted.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

They bolted to the left, dodging the arrows that were shot in their direction. Luckily the Venetian government hadn't hired their archers for skill. As they meandered through the streets, the sound of the guards' shouting became quieter until all they could hear was silence; fortunately for the duo, they both had long legs that were used to running – they easily outstripped the portly sentries. Abruptly turning right into a small alleyway, Sherlock grabbed the Doctor's cloak and pulled him in. Both men were panting.

"That was… interesting." The consulting detective said between breaths.

"That was brilliant! Shame about the girl though." The Doctor added.

"We couldn't have saved her, by my calculations, going back on your own timeline is probably not the best idea. Besides – she was destined to die at that specific point in time. There's no point in changing that or there could be consequences in the future." Sherlock deduced, finally catching his breath. The Doctor looked at the consulting detective.

"Oh you're good, you're _very_ good." Sherlock quirked a smile.

"Shall we get going then? I've got dinner waiting. You're welcome to join us." Sherlock stated, leaving the question open. The consulting detective didn't quite know what had spurred him to ask this question. There was just something about the man stood next to him that made Sherlock want to trust him entirely. However The Doctor didn't make any effort to acknowledge the question, he instead, stepped out of their hiding place and looked around.

"I think the TARDIS isn't far from here – there's that merchant from earlier!" he said, practically skipping off. They found the TARDIS quite quickly after that, seeing as how it had drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers.

"Excuse me, Doctor coming through! I'll examine this odd looking building! Excuse me! Thank you." said the Timelord loudly, pushing through the crowd. He unlocked and opened the door just wide enough for him and Sherlock to slip through and jogged up to the control panel. Sherlock shut the door and looked around the TARDIS again. He didn't let this on to The Doctor, but he found it magnificent.

"How come we can understand everyone? It's not as if renaissance Italy is fully of English speakers. Obviously it's something to do with the TARDIS."

"Ah, good question! The TARDIS has a translation matrix, so we can understand any foreign languages, and they can understand ours. It's a good thing you haven't got a strong accent! Causes havoc with the systems." The Doctor grinned to Sherlock, who had walked up to the control panel.

"Seems like there is a lot for me to learn, then." Sherlock said. The Doctor faltered a little, then smiled again.

"So back to Baker Street then? What time?" The Doctor asked, starting to pull levers and turn knobs. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the man's dismissal at his former statement.

"7 o'clock will do nicely."

"Rightyho!" The Doctor yelled, over the cyclic wheezing that had started inside the room. He pulled one last lever and pressed a purplish looking button, and then they were gone.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

The TARDIS appeared seconds later, but not in the place Sherlock had expected. He stepped out, now dressed in his normal clothing, and looked around the room noticing the damp instantly; it was apartment 221C, the flat below theirs. Sherlock turned to The Doctor who was stood just behind him, and raised his eyebrow.

"What? It's raining outside." The Doctor said. Sure enough, the small window at the top of the room revealed that it was throwing it down.

"This door's locked from the outside." Sherlock replied, pointing to the entrance of the apartment.

"Ah right, yes. I'll just…" he slipped past the consulting detective, sentence unfinished. The Doctor pulled something out of his jacket and aimed it at the lock, where there was a soft click. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"What is that?" he asked.

"What, this?" he looked at the device quickly, "ah, my sonic screwdriver. Very useful."

"Apparently. Do you have another one of those back there?" he motioned with his head to the TARDIS.

"Unfortunately not." There was a silence. "So yes… I best be off." The Doctor said, sidling past Sherlock again, stepping into the TARDIS and turning to face the detective.

"My offer still stands you know…"

"Ah yes… well, you know… I have places to be... things to do…" he said, beginning to shut the door.

"I know you've lost a great deal of friends in the past, and that you don't want to make new ones. It'll hurt too much if they leave. It's not hard to deduce that." Sherlock stated simply. The Doctor paused and looked at him sadly.

"Sherlock Holmes... _Sherlock Holmes!_" The Doctor grinned, "In all my life, I never would have thought it… Sherlock Holmes! It was an honour meeting you." Sherlock paused, then his lip curled upwards.

"And I you Doctor. We _will_ meet again, you know. It's only a matter of time."

"Oh I don't doubt that for a second." The Doctor beamed, fishing in his pocket. He drew out the set of keys to 221B he had taken off Sherlock in their earlier scuffle, and tossed them to the detective who caught them and nodded in thanks.

"Just one more question, Doctor." The floppy haired man stopped. "What are you?" The man seemed to ponder the question for a moment.

"I'm The Doctor." He grinned one last time, whipped the door shut and manipulated the TARDIS into vanishing, leaving Sherlock alone.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock entered 221B a minute later, hanging his scarf and coat up on the hat rack.

"You're late." Said a voice from the other side of the room.

"Only 5 minutes." Sherlock replied sceptically, turning to face his flatmate.

"5 minutes? _5 minutes?!" _John said, enraged. He stood up from his seat and slammed his newspaper down. "More like 48 _hours_ and 5 minutes! Where the _hell _have you been Sherlock?!" He almost shouted. "It's been 2 days! 2 days! You were about 5 bloody minutes away from being declared a missing person!"

_2 days?_ Sherlock thought, puzzled.

"Mrs Hudson's been worried sick! Mycroft's been calling about you! And now you just come back acting as if nothing's wrong! I have a right mind to-" John stopped in the middle of his rant. "And now you're not even listening. Well that's great, _just_ great. This is what you get for living with a sociopath, John. When will you ever learn?"

During John's tirade, Sherlock walked past the army doctor and into the kitchen. Studying the room, it was apparent to the detective that John hadn't slept properly since he left; the stacks of dirty dishes, tea cups and coffee mugs, the lack of food in the fridge or cupboards. Sherlock turned around to face John, who had resorted to glaring at him.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't realise the time, you know how I am when I think. It won't happen again." Sherlock said, in an effort to shut John up so he could think for a minute.

John's brow quirked upwards and his mouth opened. And then closed. And then opened again. Attempting to ignore John's goldfish impressions, Sherlock noticed an anomaly. It was only small, but the electric blue stood out immensely against the glass of the sliding doors. He strode towards the left side, pulling the piece of paper off the glass and slipping it in his pocket swiftly.

"Cup of tea John? Oh look, we're out of milk – I'll go down to the shops now." Sherlock said abruptly, striding past John and grabbing his coat and scarf. Before John could reply, the consulting detective was already out of the door.

Sherlock was stood at the top of the steps of 221b as he pulled the note out. Unfolding the bright blue paper, the detective found a messy scrawl on it; it read only a few words.

'_Sorry about that, I told you she wasn't feeling too well; won't happen again. _

_If you're ever bored, just give me a call. We won't be far behind.'_

Sherlock flicked his eyes to the numbers just underneath, then tucked the note back in his pocket and looked up. A smile spread across his face.

_Until then, Doctor._

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_Voila! I hope you liked the fic – I would have posted it ages ago, but I wanted to make sure it was completely finished so you didn't have to wait too long until the next chapter!_

_So this was only a short story; The Doctor's given Sherlock a small taste for the time travelling life, only a little, but just enough to make the detective want more! There will be definitely be more in the future! I'm going to plan out a PROPER adventure! WITH PROPER ALIENS AND STUFF. AWWW YEAAAHHHHHH. S'gonna be goooood. So keep your eyes peeled for that!_

_Please review! I WILL BAKE YOU COOKIES OF LOVE andtheneatthemforyobecausei'mthatgenerouswhat. Constructive criticism is very welcome – I'm not a _massive_ massive Doctor Who buff, so I might have gotten a couple facts wrong (fingers crossed though)!_

_Peace out, Holmies._


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